


Bested

by EtLaBete



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: First Kiss, M/M, Sparring
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 23:20:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9095131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EtLaBete/pseuds/EtLaBete
Summary: Jesse and Hanzo spar. Jesse doesn't win in the usual sense, but he definitely wins something.





	

**Author's Note:**

> ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Jesse huffs, blood dripping down the side of his face from a cut below his eyebrow. His lip is split, too - he can taste it - and he’s pretty sure a bruise is blooming on his right cheek. Even so, he maintains his stance, spitting a mixture of saliva and blood onto the mat. 

Hanzo stands across from him. He doesn’t breathe as hard as Jesse, but he’s banged up about just as bad. His hair’s come out of its ribbon, dark strands sticking to the sides of his face and draping over his shoulders like spilled ink, and there’s blood smeared beneath his nose from a valiant but ultimately useless attempt to staunch the flow after Jesse landed a pretty decent punch. 

Jesse soaks the sight in. He won’t ever admit it, but Hanzo’s the most gorgeous goddamn thing he’s ever seen. Sharp, dark eyes, cheekbones that could cut glass, hair that he wants to card his fingers through, grab a handful of, and pull. He’s also come to appreciate Hanzo’s serious and even standoffish manner, and maybe he finds it a bit endearing. It ain’t ever gonna happen, though, and Jesse is okay with that. Or so he tells himself, because he has to be okay with it lest he disappointment himself unnecessarily. It took a lot of stern talking-tos from Genji before Jesse would even give the assassin a chance, considering their history, and once he finally made an effort, it took Hanzo even longer to stop despising him after a few choice descriptors like “brother-killer” were used. 

Actually, Jesse isn’t sure the other man doesn’t still despise him. It’s a tenuous friendship that the cowboy tests the boundaries of constantly. He’s surprised Hanzo’s tolerated him as much as he has.

“You done, Shimada?” he asks casually, trying to stave off the rush of heat pooling in his stomach. 

Hanzo’s eyes narrow. “Hardly.” 

“Bring it, then, darlin’.” 

Something in Hanzo’s eyes darkens, and hell if it doesn’t make Jesse’s groin tighten. 

Hanzo darts forward, and Jesse braces himself for an onslaught of fists, but the assassin changes pace at the last moment. One second, Jesse’s standing and staring at Hanzo’s gorgeously determined sneer, the next, he’s on his back after Hanzo dropped to the ground, kicked a foot out, and hooked it around Jesse’s ankle before pivoting. Jesse’s head thuds against the mat and he snarls out a curse as lights erupt across his field of vision. Before he can gain his bearings, Hanzo is on him, forearm pressed to Jesse’s throat with enough pressure to make swallowing difficult.

“Do you yield?” Hanzo asks, his voice gruff but surprisingly quiet as he stares down into Jesse’s eyes. 

Jesse stares back and thinks, _aw hell_ , as his heart pounds for reasons other than the exertion of sparring, but offers a jerky nod. “You betcha. A man knows when he’s been bested.” 

Hanzo doesn’t move.

“Gonna get off me, darlin’, or you plan on vacationin’ for the winter?”

Hanzo’s upper lip raises in a scowl and he shifts. Jesse thinks the other man is finally going to let him up, especially because Jesse knows he hates being called darlin’, but then Hanzo changes pace again and increases the pressure of his forearm against Jesse’s throat. It’s enough to get Jesse’s hackles raising, so he reaches up with his prosthetic hand, wraps the metal fingers around Hanzo’s wrist, and squeezes a warning.

“What in the hell are you doin’?” Jesse hisses. 

“Tell me, cowboy,” Hanzo says lowly. “What if I wanted to vacation for the winter?” 

Jesse’s eyes widen. The hold on Hanzo’s wrist slackens. “What—” 

Hanzo dips down, his hair slipping forward like silk. Jesse holds his breath, because he doesn’t think this can be happening, but then there’s a press of lips to his. Hanzo does not close his eyes even though his lids lower, fanning dark lashes over his blown pupils. Something inside of Jesse’s chest explodes - it might be his heart jackrabbiting against his ribs - and he surges upwards as much as he can with Hanzo’s arm holding him prisoner. Hanzo’s breath hitches and he tilts his head to the side. His hair brushes against Jesse’s cheek. It sends a jolt through him and he flat-out moans when Hanzo swipes a tongue against his split lower lip. 

After several long moments, Hanzo pulls back and the pressure on Jesse’s neck lessens. He sucks in a breath but doesn’t break eye contact with the assassin. 

Hanzo’s lips quirk ever so slightly into an honest-to-God smile, and Jesse knows in that moment that he is well and truly fucked. 

“Let me know if there may be a vacancy,” Hanzo murmurs, and then his weight is gone. 

Jesse stares at the ceiling, trying to right his thoughts. He’d never have guessed anything of the sort to be flitting through Hanzo’s head, which makes him wonder if the other man is just toying with him. Except he doesn’t think Hanzo’s the type, not when he’s always so damned blunt, but Jesse doesn’t know how the hell else to explain it. When he sits up, the archer is no longer in the training room even though Jesse’s sure he didn’t hear the door open and close. 

“What in tarnation,” he mutters, touching his lower lip, and then he grins.


End file.
